English M*!@#*f*!@#*...Do You Speak It?!?

The other day at the Barney’s warehouse sale, I saw two Russians invade and occupy a rack of neckties marked up to 70% off of their original prices. At least, that’s what I thought they were doing, I don’t speak Russian. And lucky for them because they were talking loud enough for the whole room to hear them; and believe you me, I would have gladly sacrificed the armload of goodies I was holding to keep that treasure trove out of the hands of the Reds. But a moment’s hesitation caught me flat footed as I wondered whether they maybe just thought this was a black market of some kind (after all, there was a shockingly high number of security guards (who demonstrated a shockingly low level of productivity)). If they thought they were going to find a crucible of yellowcake under the discarded remnants of DKNY’s bad year at the office, I wasn’t going to be the one to stop them.

This raises the much larger but less national-security-related issue of people speaking foreign languages loudly in public places where others cannot understand them. Now I’m going to pick up where your mothers left off (or rather never started) and pull a page straight out of Miss Manners: this is RUDE! No one cares what you say in your home or what you whisper privately to the boy walking with you hoping that you get laryngitis. What makes this behavior so abhorrent is that it shows a conscious disregard for the other human beings in your presence.

I know I’m not alone in this. Joe Biden can’t even stand to be around people who speak English with an accent. Having to deal with someone who doesn’t speak English at all would probably make his hairs stand on end. And who could blame him? If you don’t take a stand early, you could end up with some kind of fungus.

On the other side of the coin (which ironically contains words in Latin) there are the feelings and sensitivities of the non-natives to consider. Perhaps carving out a bubble of isolation in our helter-skelter discount-seeking marketplace of ideas is exactly the respite they need after a long hard day of enjoying personal freedom and living under the blanket of protection afforded by our massive national security apparatus. After all, George Washington was mister isolationist (he would have won Mister Universe as well but it turns out he was bald as a ripe tomato without the powdered wigs).

Coming back to my side of the coin, I say go isolate yourself at home. The world is filled with enough misunderstanding and egoism to sink the ship that brought you here. I’d prefer you not go to such pains to make it clear that you see me as a household moveable that you are free to alternatively ignore and hold your drinks without a coaster. I am a human being, not a human thinking, not a human doing, and not a human who is afraid to knock the teeth out of a mouth that does not treat me as such.

STFU...Seriously

Alright girls, I don’t know which of the X chromosomes contains the gene that causes you to squeal like a stuck pig every time you experience an emotion in public but it has to stop. My ears are still ringing from an encounter with a couple of 18 year old coeds shrieking with delight over their discovery of a new way to lace their Chucks. At least I think they were delighted. The noise is virtually indistinguishable from the apparent cries of anguish I heard moments later when they discovered that someone else had already discovered that lacing method.

Yes it seems one can’t walk a city block without a blood-curdling cry puncturing one’s ear drums and there’s a particular demographic to blame. Young women all over the country are using more words in more ways (well, probably repeating many of the same words over and over) than ever before using text messages, instant messages, Blackberry messages and carrier pigeons; yet when it comes time to express any sentiment more complicated than “I want a Diet Coke,” they return to a state of nature and scream like a howler monkey without the charm. I find it hard to believe that the fairer sex has picked up so foul an affectation by accident and I have a few theories about the true culprit.

I’m no Dr. Phil, but I’d say safe money is on you ladies being desperate for attention. You’ve already had a swing-and-a-miss trying to use looks or personality to get people to notice you so you turn on your siren and try catch some pedestrian off guard long enough to get your hooks in. I’ll tell you why this is a terrible idea just a minute but suffice it to say (not “sufficeth” for you Rhodes scholars out there) that this is sure to fail.

Think about this from the perspective of your prey. They are temperamental, narrowly focused, and easily distracted. They get one taste of your best banshee impression, do a quick over-under on how long it will take before they have to kill you to get the ringing to stop and decide that they cannot prepare a justifiable homicide defense by next week. So they keep moving and the dance begins again.

The much bigger issue here is the girl crying wolf. Eventually, humans will evolve to the point that they can tune out all the sound in your register, and then we have real problems because one of these days the hem of your dress is going to get caught in an escalator or your hair will catch on fire because you leaned too far over the candle on the table at that nice restaurant (how I wish this had not really happened) and no one will pay you any mind, thinking it’s just your usual mating ritual.

And don’t come crying to me when that happens. If I haven’t already learned to block you out by then, I will just laugh and laugh and laugh. So it’s time to take a stand for feminism ladies. Save your dresses and your tresses by corking your pie hole next time you have the urge to get vocal.